


File Share

by keelywolfe



Category: British Actor RPF, Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin brought back an entire collection of pictures he'd discovered on Tumblr while he was in New Zealand to share with Benedict.  After all, what are friends for?</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [sithdragn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sithdragn/gifts).



> Poor Sithdragn, my partner in Sherlock-y crime, is terribly sick with the flu. How could I not offer some happy porn to cheer her up?
> 
> Disclaimer: Completely made-up, utterly untrue. None of this ever happened. Somehow, illness always seems to induce me to write RPS...

 

* * *

"I can't believe you're showing me this."

The 'this' in question was currently in large, vivid colour on the computer screen. Frightfully vivid and Benedict kept one finger cautiously on the arrow key, quick to move on to another picture if the one in question was more than his abruptly fragile mind could take.  

Martin nudged him with one socked foot, sprawled out next to Ben on the sofa. "You're joking. I've been saving those up for weeks, got them all organized for you. Did you see the one yet of you gobbling me off?"

Benedict rolled his eyes. "Which one?" 

It was a fair question, honestly. If one went by this tumblr programme's opinion, then Martin and he spent any spare time they'd had on set exchanging anything from tongues to bodily fluids. Benedict had already had to open a Google page in another tab just to look up a few of the various acts he and Martin had hypothetically done. Although he supposed he was being a little prejudiced; some of these were obviously supposed to be Sherlock and John. 

"Oh, here, let me show you. There was this brilliant one, with you all gingery and I had longer hair," Martin scrambled up, his knee digging painfully into Benedict's thigh as he leaned over him and started flipping through pictures. 

"Do I really need to see this?" Ben cringed, wincing at the images flickering over the screen. Good god, really? He might be that flexible but Martin wasn't going to get in that position with anything less than a pry bar and a full bottle of baby oil. 

"Do I really need to see this?" Martin mimicked. He leaned in further and Ben grunted, giving him a shove when Martin's elbow dug clumsily into his thigh.  "Course you do! I've been waiting ages to show this to you. Blimey, they have some talent, don't they? Look at that one!"

'That one' turned out to be him, or rather, Sherlock, sprawled out nude on the sofa on the Baker Street set. Martin/John was on top of him, bare-arsed as well and their pricks were playing cuddles quite visibly. Worse, it looked terribly real, more like a photograph than a drawing though his body looked a bit…off, somehow. That irked him a bit; he'd been starkers in a few roles, there was material for comparison out there. 

"Oh, honestly, Martin!" Benedict huffed, "Except for the head, that doesn't even look like me!"

"Does too," Martin said smugly, "Or enough like you that no one cares. Nice that I get to be on top for a change, seems like most of them think I should be the one arse up with my knickers at my knees."

"They put you in knickers?" Benedict asked, reluctantly intrigued. 

"Not as often as you. Hang on, I've got a great one of you, all decked out like a French maid, with your tits all hanging out and—"

"No!" Benedict interrupted. "No, no, no, I've had enough of our starring role in the porn rendition today." Not that he was flustered, no, of course not, but Martin was rather leaning into him and he had just spent the better part of twenty minutes scrolling through a truly astonishing amount of dirty artwork starring the two of them. There were certain...reactions, one might say, that were understandable in those circumstances. Circumstances that were terribly close to Martin's arm where it was more or less in Ben's lap. 

 Martin was oblivious to his discomfort, scooting even closer as he flipped rapidly through the staggering amount of pictures he'd collected while in New Zealand. His arm slipped down a bit and Benedict bit back a startled groan, instinctively scrambling back which wasn't precisely a wise move when one had a laptop computer balanced on their knees. 

"Careful!" Martin yelped, automatically grabbing for it as his beloved MacBook made a beeline to fall on the floor. He managed to catch it only inches away from the hard wood by twisting himself over Benedict's lap, a position that Benedict's mind promptly informed him put Martin in line to notice another instance of hard wood in the near vicinity. 

Obviously the exposure to porn had driven Benedict insane. 

Any hope that Martin wouldn't notice was instantly vaporized as Martin went very still, laptop still balanced on his outstretched hands. Any slightly more desperate hope that Martin would let this little…well, not to go there…problem pass by without comment was similarly destroyed by Martin's very deliberate squirm, the firm pressure of his belly rubbing against Benedict's thighs and….well, yes. 

"Suppose I needn't ask if you're happy to see me, then," Martin smirked.

"Oh, stop!" Benedict groaned. His hands were hovering in the air, torn between the urge to shove Martin off his lap, the offending laptop be damned, and the rather worse urge to haul him up. Hadn't there been a picture similar to this pose, Benedict was sure there had been, thought perhaps he'd been administering a thorough spanking in that one and wasn't that a tempting impulse…his hands chose to cover his face, instead, hiding a miserable blush behind them. 

There was a quiet clattering sound, a laptop being set to the ground, Benedict thought, and then, thank god, Martin was slithering backwards, off him. Right then, he was certainly in line for a bit of teasing but that was a sight better than Martin arse up in his lap and---

His relief was short-lived, his breath woofing out of him as Martin's not inconsiderable weight was abruptly back on top of him, his thighs on either side of Ben's as he straddled him. Benedict had barely sputtered a protest before they were nose to nose, Martin's arms draped over his shoulders as he pouted teasingly. "All right, then, lover, give us a kiss, then."

"I'm not going to kiss you," Benedict forced out a laugh and very deliberately did not move, not a single inch. Not with Martin tucked up against him as close as tissues in a box. The tips of their noses were just touching and this near he could see the deeper threads of blue in Martin's eyes.

"You don't have to," Martin said airily. He rubbed their noses together, his face scrunching into an easy grin. "I'm just saying you could. If you wanted."

"I don't want to kiss you," Ben said, firmly. Martin tipped his head to the side, thoughtfully, and Benedict had to bite back a startled yelp as, teeth digging into his lower lip as Martin deliberately wriggled in his lap.

"Feels like you want to something me."

"I don't want to something you, either." Benedict honestly didn't mean to wet his lips, watched as Martin's eyes flicked down, following the tiny motion of his tongue. His voice sounded deeper, rougher to his own ears. "You're sitting on it, what reaction were you expecting?"

"It?" Martin parroted and he leaned in to press his forehead against Ben's, close enough to make his eyes cross. "It? I'm sitting on it? Precisely what IT am I sitting on, pray tell?"

"I'm not...saying...." Ben sighed out, damn, Martin had slimmed down a bit while he was in New Zealand but there was still plenty of him snugged up against Benedict, leaning all his weight just so. "Please," Ben cleared his throat against the huskiness invading his voice. "Please, you need to move."

"Oh, you need me to move?" Martin said, softly, and Ben sighed in relief when Martin's weight shifted. Only to stutter out a gasp when he only pushed his hips forward, rocking into Benedict.

"You--" Benedict grabbed Martin's hips, desperately, "Wait, you don't understand."

"I've never claimed to be a genius, Benny, but I am sitting here in your lap and your cock is hard. Doesn't take many IQ points to figure that out."

Ben blinked. Martin's face was still so close to his own that their eyelashes brushed. 

"Martin," he whispered. "Martin." He felt stunned, lost, Martin's weight holding him against the Earth better than gravity, and through his cross-eyed vision, he could see Martin smiling.

"We can stop, if you want," Martin said, softly. He tipped his head in enough to brush his lips against Ben's cheek. "We're friends, we can stop. Or not. Whatever you want, Benny."

Whatever he wanted, God, did he even want to consider what he wanted? His hands flexed mindlessly on Martin's hips, itching to do the things he suddenly wanted. Pictures, skads of them, still blazing in the forefront of his mind, and what _did_ he want?

He let his hands slide up Martin's back, tracing the line of his spine through his thin shirt. Sliding his fingers through the soft, short hair at the nape of his neck to his ears. Fondled the soft skin, hands drifting until he was cupping Martin's face, holding him.

Warm. Martin's face was warm against his hands, the faint scruff of facial hair abrading his palms. His eyes were half-shut, rims of blue studying Ben and they drifted shut entirely as Ben leaned in and brushed their mouths together.

Liar, he was such a liar. He'd said he didn't want to kiss Martin without ever knowing what a lie it was. Martin's lips parted softly, the light touch of his tongue against Ben's was as tender as a petal, letting Ben control it all with hands and tongue. Sharing breath between them as Ben finally deepened it, messy and wet and Martin made a lovely, deep sound, his hands sliding up into Ben's hair.

Martin pulled back enough to whisper, "Never thought I'd miss the curls."

"They're still in there," Ben murmured. He kissed one corner of Martin's mouth. "Just combed out."

"At least it's still long enough to pull." Martin gave an experimental tug and Benedict yowled aloud, tipping Martin over onto the sofa and pinning him down. He glared fiercely down into his unrepentant face. "Sorry 'bout that, Benny, I forgot, you're _sensitive_."

"You're a bastard--" Ben started and it tipped into a groan as Martin hooked his legs behind Ben's knees, using the leverage to squirm in an utterly lovely way. "Ah, fuck you."

"Oh, would you?" Martin said pleasantly, "I was rather hoping this was leading somewhere in that direction. Never can tell with the English, you could just offer me tea at any time, couldn't you."

"Think we're a bit past tea. This is more like after coffee," Benedict managed. Words normally flowed out of him like an endlessly, babbling river but now he was finding himself less than coherent, more focused on the hitching rhythm of Martin's hips against his. "Are you really going to make me come in my pants like a schoolboy?"

"Dear god, I should have known you went to that kind of public school," Martin shook his head. "If you don't want that, then try something different why don't you?"

Something different. Yes, he could do that, shuffling back awkwardly on his knees, well aware of how hard he was, how tight his jeans were and Martin was simply pliable beneath him, fuckably easy to roll on his knees and he sprawled into the sofa cushions without a twitch of protest.

He let Ben reach beneath him to undo his fly, easing his trousers down and bare, bare skin, God, Martin's arse was as hairless as a teenage girl, smooth pink skin that begged for a touch. Or a slap and Ben didn't bother resisting that urge.

"Ah!" Martin yelped, shuddering softly into the cushions and he didn't protest, held still while Ben leaned in to kiss the reddened handprint forming on the pale skin.

He hummed a breath against the soft curve, kissed silky skin until Martin was squirming uncertainly, his trousers bunched at his knees and no pants at all, did he, cheeky bastard.

"Martin?" Ben breathed it against the cleft of his arse, thumbs gliding down between the cheeks and pressing them lightly apart. Nuzzled lightly against it, rewarding Martin's shaky gasp with a touch of tongue. Lapped softly at the dusky little opening, tasted salt and musk and Martin was squirming in gorgeous, frantic little twists, almost pushing back into Ben's face as he slicked his tongue against it again. Again, pushing just a bit inside as Martin came apart beneath him.

"Oh, fuck, aren't you just _filthy_ ," Martin whimpered. His knees were attempting to give out and Ben snaked an arm under his hips, holding him up. Driving his tongue in a little deeper, the crinkled little hole giving beneath the slippery press of it and Martin was sweat-damp, soap-soft and pleading incoherently. Spreading his legs as wide as the trousers still binding them would allow, inviting Ben with wordless begging for more.

Ben pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as Martin collapsed on the sofa in a trembling heap. His hands were shaking so badly it took him two attempts to unfasten his trousers, yanking them down to his thighs and shuffling forward on his knees to drape himself over Martin's back. His arse was barely slick with spit, Benedict groaning aloud as he pushed against it, sliding his cock against the cleft of his arse. Almost, he could push in, Martin would let him, he knew, let him fuck him right here on this sofa without nearly enough lube and the temptation to do just that was fogging his thoughts like a cloud.

No, God, he wasn't hurting Martin and Benedict palmed his hips, holding them firmly as Martin tried to cant them up, whimpering out ragged little moans as Ben slid against him, riding the lingering slickness of his own spit. "I want to," Ben mouthed it into Martin's ear, sucking on the soft lobe viciously. "God. I want to fuck you."

"You can," Martin slurred. "You can, I'd let you. Benny, please, I want--ah!" He shuddered as Ben managed to work a hand beneath him, wrapping it around his prick, thumbing the slickness at the head. It was awkward, poor angle and grip, and Martin pushed into it with frantic gracelessness, matching the rock of Ben's hips against him

"Not...not now," Ben shut his eyes, ignoring the glowing blue protest in his balls that demanded otherwise. "I want you, want this, Martin, you lovely thing, you...you'd be tight, wouldn't you? You haven't done this often?"

"No," Martin shook his head, his hair was damp with sweat, darkened and clinging to his head in a cap. Ben pressed a kiss against it, tasting salt and maybe the scent of his shampoo. "No...Benny, please."

"Tight," Ben breathed. He bit his lip, the head of his cock was sliding past that tight little hole with every push of his hips. Again, and Martin was shivered with it, caught between Ben's body and his hand. "Tight, and you'd let me. Just a little? I...just a little, Martin, I can't."

"Please!" Martin groaned and his voice cracked as Benny pushed against him, prying just into him, as promised, just a little, pushing against stubborn resistance, nothing but spit and his own precome easing it and they both gasped as the head of his cock slid in. And back, fighting the hard clench of Martin's body.

"Come on," Ben whispered. even as Martin shuddered, "Come on, relax a bit," he coaxed, putting a little weight into it, pushing hard as Martin gulped and shook and finally, he slid in, the head popping in and Martin gave a little startled cry as Ben sank in deeper than he'd meant, God, he hadn't meant to but Martin was furnace-hot on the inside and brutally tight, clenching around his cock in a fluttery, frantic rhythm.

"Oh, god, oh, fuck, oh, Benny, Benny, you need to, I need you to--" A stream of near incoherency spilling out of Martin and Ben was far past considering the wiseness of all this, could only follow the soft, broken sound of Martin's begging. Stilted little thrusts, barely rocking in and out, and the light behind Ben's eyes was going soft and golden as he slid in a little deeper. A little more, barely realizing when his hips were pressed against Martin's backside. He barely had time to consider it, lost in the lovely tight heat of Martin, when he felt the startling, hot spill over his hand, felt Martin rasp out a quiet sob, shaking with the force of it.

God, he could feel Martin coming from the inside, his slippery waves of it unravelling through him and Benny tipped his head back and shoved into him, fucked into him, he needed to feel this, needed to, had to remember forever just how tight Martin was, how good, how fucking hot this was, this not-really-a-friendly-fuck, and coming wasn't so much an orgasm as falling into pleasure. It was like skydiving, no, like jumping off a building and the uncertainty that he'd be caught at the end, and Benedict pushed into Martin was hard as he could and wondered dimly if it was possible to die from this.

He didn't bother to wonder if he even cared.

Ben only noticed he was slumped down over Martin when he tasted salt. Blinking, he found a pale, sweaty shoulder beneath his own and kissed it unthinkingly, felt Martin sigh.

"You prat," Martin said sleepily amicable, "I won't be able to sit proper for a week and I'm on a flight back to New Zealand in two days. Do you know how long a flight is to New Zealand?"

"I reckon I do, I've taken that flight a few times," Ben cleared his throat, a bit. "I...uh..."

"Oh, really, don't," Martin stretched and winced visibly. "You can get out of my arse now, though, if you don't mind?"

Oh. Right. Ben shifted and both of them hissed as he slipped free. Ah, yes, friction was a lovely friend and a horrid master. A little soreness was worth the price, Ben decided, and he settled against Martin's back again, shivering as their drying sweat cooled them.

"Don't you dare fall asleep on me," Martin mumbled. "I'll get a cramp."

"You are a cramp. Shut up for a moment, would you?"

"That's rich," Martin yawned, "Coming from the reigning king of blabbermouth."

Oh, for...Benedict pawed at the back of the sofa and came up triumphant with a blanket of some sort. It was probably meant to be decorative but it was lovely and soft and Ben managed to wrap up most of their bits with only a hand and an elbow, perhaps a spare foot poking loose. Warm equals sleep, yes?

"Can I fuck you next time?" Martin asked, sleepily, snuggling equal parts into the blanket and Ben.

"Not a chance, you tramp," Ben said warmly. He pushed his face between Martin's shoulder blades and kissed softly. "Only if you can hold me down."

Martin pried open an eye long enough to peer at Benny over his shoulder. "Oh, and he issues a challenge."

"Not now," Ben said firmly, pushing him back down on the cushions.

Christ, it was like snuggling with a jack in the box

"Mmm, hmm," Martin mumbled, with seemingly the last of his strength and Ben listened as his breathing evened, slowly.

"I really wasn't going to kiss you," Ben said, so softly, to the room. He pressed his lips against Martin's shoulder, the nape of his neck, soft, damp kisses and he listened as Martin sighed in his sleep. "I wasn't. But try to stop me now."

The room offered no answers and Ben settled down against Martin and closed his eyes. Yes, next time, he thought, with wry resignation. They would see about next time and until then, Ben intended to steal as many kisses as he was allowed. Every single one. And maybe he'd find a few pictures of his own to share by then. 

It never hurt to do a little research ahead of time.

-fin

* * *


End file.
